The Wind Rises
by taken with you
Summary: "The wind is rising! ...We must try to live!" Harry had always been a bit messed up in the head, psychologically speaking. And with his upbringing, no one could really blame him. He forever wondered what it'd be like to have a "normal" life. The thing is... Harry needed to learn whether you grow up "normally" or not, everyone's a bit messed up. PostDH.
1. Nymphadora Tonks

"Le vent se lève! ...Il faut tenter de vivre!"  
>("The wind is rising! ...We must try to live!")<p>

- Quote from Paul Valéry's poem "Le Cimetière marin"

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the quote and as always, this wonderful world belongs to Jo Rowling.

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><p>"Wotcher, Harry!"<p>

The raven hairs on the back of Harry Potter's neck stand straight up and he turns around. No one is there. He shakes his head.

Hearing voices never meant well.

After the healer's gone, Harry rolls up his sleeves and goes to pull out his wand, and Ron Weasley says, "Mate." He says, "Don't even think about it. They're all coming."

Harry glances around him, avoiding the pierce in Ron's gaze. He sees the nondescript white sheets. The table bombarded with cards of heartfelt wishes. The flowers and candy, smudged with tears and concern. Reminders that he is never alone, even if he is so convinced of the contrary. "I think I'm going to be sick," he says, finally looking at Ron.

Ron pales and bites his tongue.

Harry squeezes the metal of the bed he is sitting up on in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and doubles over his lap. The action causes the bed to lurch a bit and knocks into the table. The table of flowers and candy. A vase right next to him wobbles and falls, and he doesn't move to catch it.

Ron does, his reflexes outmatching Harry's for once. "What's with you?" he asks. "You're dead clumsy."

Before Harry has a chance to reply, a group of people walk in, loud and anxious. Red hair and freckles. Familiar looks of relief. Too sweet greetings.

"Harry!" Mrs. Molly Weasley cries in relief, throwing her arms around him. "Thank goodness you're all right! We've been so worried."

Harry isn't surprised. They were always so worried. The frowns. The furrowing of their brows. All red with freckles, and Harry knew this from the start. He squeezes Mrs. Weasley back. "I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley," he tells her. "I'm fine." As he pulls away, a loose string in the collar of his robes catches on her gold, fine necklace and he watches in dull horror as it snaps in half. For a fleeting moment, he wishes he snapped in half.

Ron catches the broken necklace, and watches Harry stumble backwards onto the bed. "Seriously, mate, what is _with _you?"

"It's all right, Ronald," Mrs. Weasley says, getting over her initial gasp of surprise. She takes the necklace from her youngest son's hand. She turns to Harry and sees his look of guilt. Always with the guilt. "Nothing I can't fix, dear," she assures him.

George Weasley squeezes by and glances behind him. His father and oldest brother, Bill Weasley, are standing. Watching. Waiting. He looks at Harry, who is still grasping the edges of his bed, and swallows a smart remark. "What happened?"

Harry shakes his head. "Not sure. Ron and I were on an assignment, and I got hit with a curse."

"That's never happened before," says George uneasily.

"No kidding," Ron interjects roughly. His jaw is clenching and he's staring at Harry. His bright eyes are blue like ice. "It's like he's lost control of all his limbs! I've never seen him act so thoughtless!"

"Was it the curse?" inquires Mr. Arthur Weasley, from way behind. Lines surround his face. The receding hairline. The bags behind his glasses. He stands tall and lanky, like his sons Bill and Ron.

Ron shakes his head no. "I reckon it's why he was hit. His movements and speech have been bloody awkward all day. I'm sure he can't even catch a Snitch!"

Harry thinks this is an exaggeration and opens his mouth to speak, not liking the deepened frowns on everyone's faces. Especially George's. "Don't worry about it, Fred," he says, and shuts his eyes close at his words. George stills, and the rest exchange glances.

"_Harry!"_ Ron says angrily. He grabs one of Harry's shoulders and shakes it. He thinks he can snap his best friend out of it. The thoughtless actions. The reckless words. The lack of reflexes. Harry's cringing causes the red of his ears to cool, and he looks back at his family. "See what I mean?"

At that moment, Percy Weasley and Charlie Weasley walk in, their builds much like George's. Somewhat short and stocky. Harry's eyes shoot open. More red hair and freckles. His heart twinges violently when he sees no one else trailing behind. Not a scent of something flowery. No blazing looks. Harry's face doesn't look disappointed, and no one suspects a thing. "Sorry," he mutters.

Everyone turns their heads towards the sound of running footsteps, and Hermione Granger appears. She gasps at the sight of Harry, her face stricken with alarm. She takes in his black hair. Sweaty and unkempt. Her eyes dart to the thin lightening bolt scar on his forehead. The round glasses.

Harry catches her wide, brown eyes. He sees her struggling to run up to him. He knows of the hug she's holding back. He shakes his head slightly, imploring her to resist. Bushy brown hair and matching dark eyebrows, quivering to meet him. He was with her nearly eleven hours ago in the morning, when he woke up with bright pink hair. His vivid green eyes linger at the space behind her as Ron goes to grab her hand, and he knows no one else is coming.

He shouldn't expect it. He hasn't seen _her_ in over two years.

His head is pounding.

His chest too, and he can't control the ache.

Harry tries to say something else, and he imagines his tongue is the only muscle working harder than his heart. "I know you're George," he says to George, who has not moved an inch. "Dunno why I said that," he says honestly. He looks at Ron and nods. "Ron's right. I'm a clumsy wreck."


	2. Hedwig

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

When the needle of the alarm clock on his bedside cabinet struck half-past five, Harry thought he heard a tapping at his window. When he looked over at it, there was nothing there. It had been almost three years since he watched Hedwig fall from her death, and he still sometimes expected the beautiful snowy owl to find him.

She always knew where to find him, and he didn't know how he felt about that now.

He let out a loud sigh and rubbed his face tiredly. He grabbed his glasses from beside his clock and put them on, glancing at the window again. The sun was beginning to rise, and he hadn't slept a wink. His eyes were already adjusted to the darkness, so seeing the light blue sky stung a bit. Harry was used to this, however. Much like Hedwig had been, his mind was active when the lights went out.

Some nights, he never slept.

He thought vaguely of the repercussions of sleeping all day, but he knew he had to go into work. Ron was expecting him. As was Hermione. And perhaps Mr. Weasley and Percy too. Just about everyone he was close to who worked at the Ministry of Magic. They always kept a close eye on him, much to Harry's annoyance.

Close.

They were too close.

Mr. Weasley had returned to his post as Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts following the war, and Percy was now working in the Department of Magical Transportation. Hermione was along with them, still relentlessly writing requests for grants as she fought for house-elves' rights, though she somehow found time to aid her best friends in their pursuits in rebuilding the Wizarding community. Harry and Ron were Aurors, working under Kingsley Shacklebolt, the current Minister for Magic.

They had been working alongside an old classmate and good friend, Neville Longbottom, before he left the Auror Headquarters to pursue his interest in Herbology. Now that Harry and Ron had spent a little over two years capturing missing Death Eaters, extending their knowledge of the Dark Arts to reform past practices of Aurors, and commanding changes into their department in the Ministry, Ron was talking seriously about leaving as well; he wanted to help his brother George manage the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, a ridiculously popular joke shop in Diagon Alley. Ron felt he had contributed enough to their cause to comfortably retire without any qualms. And this was true. He and Harry had revolutionized the Auror department in more ways than one.

Harry understood this and didn't think he minded. As much as he loved working with Ron and going on perilous missions with him and capturing Dark wizards, he could see why moving on might be appealing. He just knew Ron would be popping the question to Hermione any day now, and working in such a dangerous field wasn't none to comforting.

Dying was an occupational hazard.

He suspected if he had someone as important to him in his life as Hermione was to Ron, he'd be doing the same. But Harry wouldn't allow that. No one was allowed to get close to him in that way anymore. Not since he shared an intense kiss with a beautiful redhead in her bedroom. Not since he let her go. Not since she had been his last thought before he heard a rushing sound and saw a flash of blinding green light. Indeed, not since he had been at the end of a legendary wand and fell limp to his death.

More than that, Ron's potential departure meant Harry would have one less person to worry about badgering him in regards to his wellbeing at the office. He already got enough of that as it was when they'd meet up outside of work. And the exhausted, grumpy part of him didn't care how horrible that made him to think that. And most days, Harry was exhausted. And grumpy. And he didn't care.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

All day with the tapping.

It followed him everywhere that morning, and he couldn't block the noise out.

"You all right, mate?" Ron asked Harry as soon as his friend came into their shared office. He was sitting at his desk, littered with Chudley Cannon posters and pictures of him and Hermione. There was also a picture of him and Harry looking dirty and beat up, but smiling triumphantly. He watched Harry shrug a shoulder as he made his way to his own desk and plopped down into his chair. Ron shook his head. "You look bloody awful."

"Thanks. Didn't get much sleep," admitted Harry.

"Nightmares?" Ron asked.

Harry shot him a look. "Not at all," he said shortly.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Harry looked sharply at the window before he remembered they were enchanted to mimic select weather. They were hundreds of miles below the ground. He shook his head. He realized Ron had said something to him. He looked up. "What?"

"I asked if you're coming with me tonight to the Burrow… y'know, for dinner," said Ron carefully. He could see that Harry was plainly in one of his moods. He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice at Harry's lack of attention. He was used to Harry's bouts of brooding by now. The exhaustion. The grumpiness. And he cared not to provoke him. Because Ron was just glad those bouts now came and went, no longer frustratingly long stretches of time where he and Hermione couldn't get him to talk. Harry's bad moods never hung around too long if left alone. He shuffled some of the paperwork on his desk to the side and stared at him expectantly.

Harry lifted his glasses to his head and rubbed his eyes for the hundredth time that day. He had forgotten about dinner that evening and inhaled deeply. "Of course," he finally said to Ron. He noticed his friend visibly relax and had to hide a smile.

They were too close.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Harry did his best to not look at the charmed window again. He instead directed his eyes at the messy desk before him. Ron's desk was messier than his, littered with Chocolate Frog wrappings and angrily crumpled clippings from the _Daily Prophet_ with Quidditch League scores, of which George never hesitated to send him even though Ron could read his own copy of the _Prophet _himself. But the mess on Harry's desk wasn't far behind Ron's. Nor the sentimental displays. Beside his nasty stacks of paperwork and dull quills, he too had pictures.

Of his loving parents, James and Lily Potter, waving happily at Harry.

His too good-looking godfather, Sirius Black, face rich with laughter.

Albus Dumbledore with his long silver hair and twinkling blue eyes, torn from a book he had no ill feelings in desecrating (much to Hermione's dismay).

Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks with bright smiles on their faces as they stroked the equally bright turquoise hair of their baby son, Teddy Lupin. His godson.

His group of friends from his Hogwarts days that included Neville, Luna Lovegood, and the twins, George and the late Fred Weasley. The twins appeared again in another picture of Harry with the entire Weasley family, grinning madly at the camera, taken at the wedding of Bill and Fleur Delacour.

Another picture of just him, Hermione, and Ron accompanied by the large form of his close half-giant friend, Rubeus Hagrid.

And curiously enough, because no one ever understood why he still kept it or opted to display it considering how clear he had made his intentions, a picture of him and Ron's youngest sister, Ginny Weasley, laughing and shoving each other while they were supposed to be studying in the library of Hogwarts, both with stupid grins on their faces. A grin he no longer could produce, even when he was back to being normal Harry.

Of course Harry couldn't keep those pictures out of sight. He held those people very close to him, wrapped tightly around his wounded heart. And though it might've been painful to force himself to see the images of mostly his departed loved ones and a picture of him and Ginny laughing like there was no tomorrow, like a tomorrow that used to promise death, Harry was familiar with pain. And so he displayed the pictures.

He had always been quite good at torturing himself. He didn't see a reason to stop now.

They were too close.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Harry groaned and let his head drop to his desk.

"Maybe you should get some sleep before we Floo home. Mum'll have kittens if she sees you like that," Ron said sagely, still appraising his friend. Though he now had a ring of chocolate around his mouth and Harry didn't think it agreed with the tone Ron had adopted.

"Can't. Got loads of work to finish," said Harry. "As do you," he added, peering at Ron from behind his glasses and sending him a pointed look.

Ron was reminded strongly of an owl, the way Harry gazed at him. "That rubbish can wait," he said, waving the paperwork off.

Harry tried not to roll his eyes and trained his focus on the gray cactus on his desk covered in what appeared to be boils. It was a _Mimbulus mimbletonia_, a goodbye gift given to him as an inside joke from Neville before he had left their department. "Ron, I'm not cleaning up after you this time," he hooted indignantly. He saw Ron snigger a bit for some reason and he decided to ignore him. He grabbed a file.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Besides, even if he didn't have a bunch of paperwork to write up, he knew sleep wouldn't come. Not with his current mood. Not with that damn tapping in his ear. Not when he hadn't slept for more than two hours a night since that morning his hair turned bright pink and he inexplicably went dead clumsy and lost control of his muscles for sixteen hours.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Not since he felt like snapping in half like the gold, fine necklace he broke two weeks ago.

Because Harry had lost himself, and Hedwig wasn't there to find him.


	3. Cedric Diggory

Harry is just making his way through the Atrium of the Ministry when he knocks into someone through his haste to get out of there. He curses under his breath, wondering wildly if his bizarre clumsiness has returned to him. But from the quick way he reaches out and deftly grabs the person's elbow, that thought promptly flies out of his head. He was more than likely just bloody exhausted and wasn't paying much attention to anything. "Excuse me," he mutters in an apology as he turns to an open fireplace. Then he hears something.

"I'd know that voice anywhere," the person says, whose sweet voice causes Harry to still and his heart to stop. "Harry?"

Harry turns back around and he wants to drop to the ground. His insides crash below his feet, probably hitting the earth's volcanic core and he is sure his heart has Disapparated somewhere that is as far away from his chest as possible with a tiny _pop_. Because there was definitely a popping in his ribcage and he can't breathe. Perhaps his lungs have run off with his heart and he isn't sure why flashes of his organs running off together keep zooming through his head. He tries to take in a deep breath, but it is no use.

His lungs have run off with his heart.

"Ginny," Harry chokes, cringing at the stupid nervous voice his mouth has assumed and he tries to disregard the jolt in his stomach that reaches below his belt. The same place seems to have perked up at her appearance and he swiftly tells that perkiness to stay the hell down. When that place starts moping around, he tries to clear his throat. It is no use.

He's unable to say anything more, and he has lost his voice.

He decides that too has run off with his lungs and heart.

When did his vital body organs turn into such traitors?

He suspects when he came into sight with Ginny, who looks as striking as ever and whose loveliness still makes his knees go weak, and he just can't understand how his voice will betray him but his eyes won't budge. He has no hopes they will run off too; they are entirely too stuck on Ginny's warm brown ones.

It has been two long years and four months since he has seen that gorgeous face in the flesh, and a part of him can't believe it's still her. She has grown up a lot since he left her and much to his aching alarm, age is treating her extremely well. She has grown into her looks and his mind goes blank.

For a split second, he searches for the fiery anger in her eyes and any signs of pain. He didn't think she'd ever see him again, let alone willingly talk to him. Not with the way he left things and all the horrible words she last said to him, which he felt he deserved. He feels dread as he watches her mouth move in a near gasp. But this dread quickly turns into shock when her gasp breaks into a wide, bright grin. Even more surprising is that it reaches her eyes. She seems to have lit up and she is already pulling him into a deep, warm hug.

"Harry!" Ginny exclaims into his chest. "It's so good to see you!"

Harry looks mystified but his arms squeeze her to death against his wishes. He pulls away and notices her smile is still in place. He doesn't know what to say. He wonders why she looks so happy to see him, when they have been very careful to avoid each other. "What are you doing here?" he asks stupidly.

Ginny's smile falters a bit, but she shakes her head and it returns. Though she might not have wanted to let him see how much his presence still affects her, she can't control the warmth he brings to her. "I—er—am here to see the journalism department. I might start writing for the _Prophet._"

Harry's stupid questions increase. "Aren't you still playing for the Holyhead Harpies?"

Ginny has to laugh at that. _He's the same Harry._ "Yes, but they're thinking of giving me a Quidditch column. You know, to write from inside the League."

"Oh."

Ginny nods her head, but frowns when she fully takes in Harry's appearance. He looks awful, like he hasn't slept in weeks. His untamed hair is even more unruly and his skin is incredibly pale, causing his thunderbolt scar to stand out on his handsome face. "Yes… I thought it was a good opportunity to secure a backup job for when I eventually settle down," she sees Harry frown, "but—are you all right, Harry?" She instinctively places a hand to his head.

Harry tries not to melt into her warm palm as images of Ginny settling down with some bloke flash before him. His irrational jealousy kicks in and he pulls away. "Er, yeah. I'm fine," he says. He sees Ginny furrow her brow.

"You don't look fine," she comments. "Are you still having nightmares?"

Harry can't help but scowl at her question as vicious memories of the reasons why he left her appear between them.

Harry waking up in the middle of the night when the two occasionally started sharing the same bed a month after the war and he's strangling Ginny beneath him, saying vile things under his breath.

Other nights after Ginny has assured him she's fine and can handle it where Harry's kicking her out of bed and causing nasty, swollen bruises on her creamy skin.

He had to watch Ginny turn black and blue and grotesquely yellow at her beseeching for an entire month before he demanded she stay away from him.

No matter how many times she swore to him that she was okay. No matter how many times she's had to repair his broken glasses and assure him he was worth it. No matter how many times she tried to hide her fresh bumps with promises that she was always happy with him with claims that she understood. It was no use. No matter what she said or did to calm his thrashings and the guilt he held most mornings they'd wake up together, Harry had finally had enough watching himself accidentally hurt her most nights and deemed himself a hazard to her. And as her soothing words turned ugly, calling him a coward and not the man she thought she knew, Harry still left, the purple marks on her neck still fresh in his head.

And these recollections twirl through both their minds.

Harry inhales sharply. "No, I'm not," he lies.

Ginny looks sad and squeezes his shoulder. "I heard about your stay in St. Mungo's…" she says. "Hermione owled me immediately and I wanted to go see you, but I was out of the country for a match… By the time the owl got to me, you were already out…"

Harry gives her a weak smile. "That's all right. Didn't expect you to come…" He sees her hide a glare and suddenly remembers the reason he's wondering why she's talking to him so openly. "I'm surprised you're even speaking to me now. I thought you'd never want to see me again…"

Ginny feels offended, the red rising to her cheeks. "Of course not!"

Harry raises his eyebrows and watches her blush.

"I mean, yes… I admit I didn't want to before… but I've come to terms with your decision in the last year… I've loved you for most of my life, Harry. You're a part of me, whether who I was two and a half years ago would've liked to admit it or not. I wouldn't be who I am now without you."

Harry now feels glad his heart has run off with his lungs, because the word _loved_ does not bode well for him. His mind can't take talking to her anymore and he nods his head. "Well, that's really good to hear," he says somewhat stiffly. "Sorry, but I have to go," he tells her, already seeing the disappointment forming on her pretty face and he starts pondering why she looks so disappointed. Nothing has changed. He will still strangle her and he knows this. And she knows this. It is no use. And as she opens her mouth to argue, as he knows full well that's what she's about to do, he mutters a strangled apology and turns to leave.

He's choking.

He feels like a poor excuse for a Hufflepuff, and not the Gryffindor that he is, as he walks into the blazing green fire, knowing he allowed his heart to be the first casualty in his war against love.


	4. Dolores Umbridge

**A/N:** I'd like to clear up any confusion I've received from readers.

The voice of Harry's perspective will shift from active and passive depending on the situation. The tapping in Harry's ear was a passive thing, so everything was seen passively. Harry getting hit with a curse and losing control of his speech was active. It provides a sense of urgency, and his feelings are urgent in those moments.

As for the first chapter's title... I thought it was obvious. My mistake. One of Tonk's biggest personality traits is her clumsiness. Plus she liked to sport pink hair. And just in case anyone didn't catch it, Cedric Diggory is in reference to the good looks expressed both on Harry and Ginny's part, and of course, the fact that Cedric was a Hufflepuff and lost his life as the first casualty in the second Wizarding war.

Excuse the interruption. Now on with the story.

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><p>There was a loud knock at the door of Twelve Grimmauld Place and Harry sighed in his seat, not bothering to get up to open it. He knew it was only a false gesture done to be polite, and thirty seconds later, he was right. Hermione showed her face and stalked over to where he was, sitting across from him. "Please, c'mon in," he said darkly. "I also have some food in the kitchen, why don't you help yourself?" Dark brown eyebrows narrowed at him and he heard, "Already on it!" in the background before he glimpsed red hair heading downstairs to his kitchen.<p>

Harry grinned, but Hermione didn't look amused. She leaned in towards him, staring at the vividly pink thunderbolt scar against his pale skin. How jagged it looked. How distinct. "Ginny came by to see me today."

Harry already figured this out. His scowl calmly stayed below his features. "She told you about our little run-in," he said simply.

Hermione nodded her head, now appearing apprehensive before she spoke. "She says you weren't looking so well. I have to agree."

Harry kept his scowl in check, hidden and stretching miles beneath his face. The prominence of it elongating not unlike the wide mouth of a toad. A dirty, slimy toad. Harry cleared his throat, willing the image away.

_Hem-hem._

Hermione didn't notice. "Are you okay, Harry?"

Harry knew the multiple implications of her question. Was he okay physically? Was he okay seeing Ginny again after so long? He wanted to hear nothing of it, but Hermione was never one to let that get in her way. So he opened his mouth to speak, hoping he didn't croak. "I'm fine, Hermione."

"But seeing Ginny—"

"I'm fine," Harry repeated forcibly, his voice definitely a croak.

Hermione didn't notice. "You're a terrible liar."

"Isn't he?" asked Ron as he came into the large sitting room, mouth full of food. Crumbs on his chin, and he didn't appear to mind. He took a seat next to Hermione, grinning before seeing her expression and his mouth quickly mirrored hers. An unhappy grimace. "What?" he asked her. "I don't blame him. Have you seen her lately? Quidditch has been doing her wonders! Can't have been too happy seeing her when he's looking like that, can he?"

Harry lost his grip on his scowl, and it openly broadened against his mouth.

Hermione and Ron didn't notice. _"Ron!" _she admonished.

"What?" Ron asked loudly once more. Perplexed like usual. His face unknowing. "What did I say?"

"Honestly Ro—"

"Stop it, you two," Harry croaked, annoyed. He's heard this time and time again. They both immediately shut up, turning their heads to look at him. "I really am okay," he said.

His two best friends gave him pointed looks. Unenthusiastic and disbelieving. Recognizable and warm.

_Hem-hem._

Harry had to smile. He imagined that too must be large. "Trust me," he pleaded. "It… caught me by surprise, yes," he admitted. "But I handled it…"

A brown eyebrow went up, and Ron suddenly found the time on his wrist rather interesting. "According to Ginny, it didn't sound like you handled it…" she said.

Harry's hidden scowl roared and turned restless. "How soon do we take the words of others over mine," he muttered bracingly.

The strictness in Hermione's face softened. Her hand reached out for his. "Harry," she said gently. "We're not taking her word over yours…" She looked at Ron for help. Brown eyes met blue, sharing a silent word.

Harry tried to ignore this, introducing his irritation to his scowl. He thought they'd hit it off and become best friends real quick. And he huffed quietly in his chair.

_Hem-hem._

Hermione and Ron didn't notice. "She's right, mate," Ron said, missing the flash of a scowl. "You're a terrible liar."

Harry sighed and allowed himself a second to shut his eyes. "Nothing has changed," he said quietly, opening his eyes to stare at them seriously.

Ron's eyes jumped back to his watch.

Hermione bit her lip. She squirmed in her chair, and Harry knew she had something to say.

"Don't," he croaked at her thickly. He thought he needed a cough drop.

Hermione didn't notice. "It's just… things _have _changed, Harry…"

"How so?"

Brown eyes met blue again, and Harry wanted to hop away.

Ron decided to take the bullet. "Ginny's gonna be there tonight… for dinner… at the Burrow," he said. He saw the unhappiness on Harry's face, but Ron didn't look too happy about this either. They silently agreed this was bad news. Ron sighed and Harry nodded his head in understanding. "She's moving back home," he finally said.

"And you're still joining us," added Hermione quickly.

Harry remained quiet; he felt he wanted to argue, but he had nothing to say. No argument came to his head. He too knew he couldn't back out. He had never missed a weekly dinner at the Burrow. His absence would cause worry. Always with the worrying. And he'd already informed Mr. Weasley that afternoon he'd be there. He sighed in resignation and tried to clear his throat.

_Hem-hem._

"I'll be fine," he managed to croak. He knew he sounded pitiful, but he couldn't control the dread.

Hermione and Ron didn't notice. "Oh, Harry," said Hermione, looking sympathetic. "We'll be with you the whole time. We promise."

And though brown eyes met blue once more, Harry smiled gratefully. "I know you will. That's why I'll be fine."

Hermione squeezed Harry's pale, sweaty hand, and Ron seemed to have lightened up a bit. "Well, let's get going then. Are you ready?" he asked, looking directly at Harry. He noticed his friend's deeply purple bags. And he was unable to avert his eyes away from the distinct scar on his forehead. It stood out so much against Harry's pallid skin. Pink against white.

"Yeah," said Harry dully. They all got up to leave, making their way to the front door. He paused behind them to pull on his cloak.

_Hem-hem._

"You sure you're okay?" Ron asked him. Hermione also stared, sending him a weak smile.

"Yes," said Harry, knowing he was lying. They knew he was lying too. They already established he was a terrible liar. "I'm okay." He lifted his glasses to his head, and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. It was going to be a long night.

Brown eyes met blue with worry. The other scar on Harry's hand did not go unnoticed. How jagged it looked. How distinct. Much like the one on his head, it stood out vividly amongst his skin. Pink against white.

_I must not tell lies._


	5. Alastor Moody

**A/N:** **DaftDruid**, Hey you :) Haha! Don't worry, love! I'm still jetlagged. I've been taking naps and posting these chapters in between. This is my last one before I head back to the airport to my next destination. But you're right. The Devil and God is a lot longer and requires more time to write… perhaps you haven't noticed the exact length, but those chapters are roughly between 11,000 – 15,000 words each. These chapters are only about 1,500 words each. It's a considerable difference. But don't think I'm not working on chapter 18, because I am! I've been writing the chapters to this story between ideas when I need a fresh break. Like I said, it's a lot easier writing 1,500 words than 12,000 while I'm out on location. The only reason I have time at the moment (and it's not that much time) is because of stupid jetlag.

**Danneyland**, Hey! So, yes, I'm quite familiar with how scars work and their discolorations on skin. Unfortunately, not everyone's skin is the same, particularly in regards to color/tone. Many results are similar and they have a general outcome (like in the way you pointed out), but there are some exceptions. Speaking from experience, I have one large scar in particular that I received from a cat when I was about four. I don't remember its initial coloring, but it is now whitish in tone, a few shades lighter than my natural skin color. That being said, when I get sick or become incredibly pale, it turns pink. Almost like it's retaining my natural skin color while my skin goes off white. It also occurs with my father (who is German), but not my mother (who is very not German). And that's where my inspiration came from! You'll notice the characters point out it's suddenly visible now because Harry looks sickly, and not that it's naturally pink... But thanks for your input! If it helps you, feel free to imagine that it stems from his scar being that of a magical source, as is the one on his hand. He had the words carved into him by a blood quill written directly on parchment, and that's magical enough!

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><p>After Harry, Ron, and Hermione had Apparated right outside the Burrow, Harry wished wistfully that he brought along his father's Invisibility Cloak. The Auror in him was already scanning his surroundings carefully, sizing up the situation. The familiar crooked house. The warm lights and sweet smells. The loud laughter muffled behind walls. Now completely menacing.<p>

He felt like he was walking into a tight spot, and he tried to maintain his stealth.

Whoever said it was better to be safe than sorry, didn't know the half of it.

Ron and Hermione watched as Harry stared at the Burrow warily, as if trying to see through it, and they didn't question him. They could feel the nerves emitting from him; they understood he'd become like this before they brought him the news of Ginny's expected appearance. They saw Harry's mind working quickly, and they waited patiently for him to give them the all-okay signal.

Harry felt tense, his legs going stiff. He wasn't sure of all who had already arrived, and this thought made him uncomfortable. He couldn't be entirely certain of what he'd be walking into. That tight spot. And he speedily braced himself. A part of him wished he had a Foe-Glass, so he could see what would be coming.

But there was no Foe-Glass.

And Harry's foes were coming.

Harry took another deep breath before he gestured to Ron and Hermione to go inside. His legs still stiff, he trailed behind them. Limping along.

Upon entering the kitchen through the back door of the Burrow, he was immediately enveloped into two large, obnoxious hugs. Mrs. Weasley and Fleur, too happy to see him. Harry could hear tiny footsteps, and he prepared himself for the attack he knew was to come. A minute later, little Victoire Weasley, the toddler of Bill and Fleur, was charging into him at full force, scrambling up his legs; he squeezed her tightly as she squealed into his neck.

"Harry!" she cried shrilly.

Harry grinned at her. "Miss Weasley," he cooed affectionately. "You've grown even prettier than you were last week!"

The child giggled happily before taking in Harry's appearance. She suddenly burst into tears, sobbing in broken baby words if Harry was going to die and wondering wildly out loud why a chunk of his nose was missing.

Everyone in the kitchen stared at Victoire questionably, glancing at Harry and seeing his nose was as normal as ever.

Fleur immediately pulled the sobbing baby from Harry's hands to calm her down and Bill looked at him apologetically. "Sorry, mate. As you can see, she already has an active imagination."

Harry tried to laugh it off after a brief wince, not really knowing what to say. "I understand. Er, sorry I made her cry." And he did understand. And he was sorry. Because she was no foe.

And Harry's foes were coming.

Bill and Fleur simultaneously waved him off, the latter muttering things about cranky babies and how it was time for her nap anyway in her throaty, French accent.

After some raucous nods and roaring laughter from George, informing the man in question he did look quite sick and asking whether his conk was running, because that's probably where it had gone, Harry shot him a dark look. As he limped his way into the family room, his eyes darted all over the house, making sure he was absolutely aware of his surroundings.

He learned from Mr. Weasley that Charlie couldn't make it, and he gathered that Mrs. Tonks, Teddy's grandmother, Teddy himself, and Percy hadn't arrived yet. No hints of something flowery, and Harry knew Ginny hadn't either. He tried to feel at ease at this observation, but he felt his body tense up even more. The event with Victoire wasn't the least bit helpful. He limped over to a chair and sat down. Hermione wasn't far behind him, and he guessed Ron was still lingering in the kitchen. He jumped a bit when George came ambling into the room, talking loudly about a new joke product, a firewhiskey in hand. Harry wished again he knew what was coming. What tight spot he had walked into.

But there was no Foe-Glass.

And Harry's foes were coming.

George offered him a firewhiskey, but Harry politely declined, thinking a fuzzy mind was of no use. He had to maintain his watch. As he tried to make himself comfortable, he couldn't help but feel jittery. He felt Hermione place a comforting hand on his, but he could see right through her.

She looked almost happy for some reason, and Harry didn't like it.

And why was she looking happy?

Harry had just opened his mouth to ask her this when the fire in the family room suddenly turned bright green and his lips snapped together, steeling himself. He visibly relaxed at the sight. It was just Percy. Horn-rimmed glasses and a shiny badge to boot. He was no foe.

And Harry's foes were coming.

Harry offered Percy a brief smile before he noticed Hermione shooting furtive glances at the fireplace. He tried to hide the accusation in his voice when he spoke. "Why do you look so pleased?"

Hermione blushed at once. "What?" she asked him innocently. Harry did not like the smirk hidden in her eyes. "Don't be silly," she said hastily. "I don't look pleased."

A Sneakoscope immediately started spinning in Harry's head. Someone wasn't being honest.

"Why do you look so pleased?" asked Ron as he made his way next to her. He pressed a kiss to her pink cheek and didn't notice her glare, or the quick jerk from Harry, straightening in his seat at Ron's voice. Forever clueless and eating, and Harry never appreciated it more. He was no foe.

And Harry's foes were coming.

Harry relaxed again and shot Hermione a pointed look.

She simply pretended she hadn't seen in, and promptly engaged Ron in a discussion.

Harry's eye-roll turned into another clandestine dart of his eyes, re-scanning his surroundings. Mr. Weasley asked him something just then. Something about a fascinating device called _conpooters_ that allowed Muggles to communicate _elektronikally_ across the world. Harry quickly got sucked into the conversation, delighting Mr. Weasley. He was no foe.

And Harry's foes were coming.

As Harry was going into describing the computer he had occasionally messed with that belonged to his cousin, Dudley Dursley, he flinched when the fire turned bright green once more.

There was no Foe-Glass.

His insides instantly clinched.

One look at Ginny, and constant vigilance was lost.


	6. Petunia Dursley

_Ginny grasped both of Harry's hands tightly in hers, holding them to her chest urgently and trying to catch the green orbs that were his eyes. "Harry, please look at me," she whispered, squeezing his cold palms. His knuckles. His fingers. After a few minutes of heavy breathing, he finally complied. His green eyes bolted to tearful brown ones and she wanted to break down all over again. He wasn't weeping, but they were red and she could see the mixture of desperation and resolve in them; they were incredibly sad and she was determined to change his mind. "You don't have to do this…" she pleaded, her voice cracking. "Please don't leave…"_

_Harry's voice was dense when he spoke, spiked with misery. It sounded like he _was _crying, but no tears ever came to his eyes. "Ginny…" he said, broken._

_"Don't you love me?" asked Ginny, her voice breaking too._

_Harry's wrecked laugh was hollow. "You… know I do, Gin…"_

_Ginny's hands squeezed his tighter. "Then say it," she suddenly demanded, thinking she needed to hear it if he was just going to up and leave her like this again. Ginny was only sixteen and she'd be seventeen soon. A fully-grown witch. She could handle all of Harry's thrashings and self-loathing at night if he'd just let her, but he wouldn't seem to listen. He had nurtured a serious case of selective hearing._

_The ball of malignant melancholy wedged in his windpipe tripled and extended to the other parts of his body. His heart. His stomach. His liver. His bones. "I can't…" he said. "Not like this."_

_"Then don't leave like this," implored Ginny._

_Harry wished he could die for her all over again and he felt insanely ashamed for that thought. Hating himself once more and avoiding her gaze. "You deserve someone who can… give you all their attention… who can… just take you into their bed and hold you… like it was the most natural thing in the world… maybe even… show you how much they love you… as I can't."_

_A strangled cry tore through Ginny's throat._

_"I have to go now, Gin…"_

_Ginny pulled his hands closer to her, down towards her stomach as he moved to get up. "No, no," she moaned in desperation. "No! No—don't—!" She sounded as if her nose was stuffed, like she had a heavy, water-filled cold that traveled through her sinuses and kept her from breathing. Her voice did not sound right, and her jagged gasps of air were hard to get through. "I'm not ready!" she cried. "I'm not ready, I'm not ready, I'm not ready," she repeated frantically._

_A deep sigh fell from Harry's lips and he squeezed her hands back._

_Ginny sniffed. "I… I want my life to be with you, Harry."_

_Harry's eyes locked with hers. Empty and hard, like the tone of his low voice. "I don't."_

I'm not ready, I'm not ready, I'm not ready.

* * *

><p>Harry was hiding in a cupboard.<p>

He didn't know what to do, but shoving himself in a cupboard seemed like a good idea.

He had never felt so powerless.

He was a freak. He was a freak and he knew this.

He saw the neatly lined cans of homemade chicken stock and rhubarb cherry marmalade. The stacks of tins filled with flour. With sugar. With dry noodles and breadcrumbs. He looked down and saw the bag of potatoes. Tons of potatoes.

He was hiding in a cupboard, and he pursed his lips.

"Where's Harry?" he heard George ask from behind the door after listening to three pairs of footsteps approach where he stood, cramped.

"Dunno," Ron's slightly irritated voice replied. "He said he had to use the loo…," Harry heard a shuffling, "but that was ages ago…" The shuffling grew louder.

_No! Don't come in here, boy! _Harry thought desperately. The shuffling suddenly turned distant and he sighed in relief. He had never felt so powerless.

"Well, dinner's about to start," Hermione's voice joined in. "Perhaps he's already outside…?"

"You don't suppose…" started George, but quickly stopped. Harry thought Ron and Hermione might have sent him a look.

"Of course not," said Hermione briskly. "Harry wouldn't just leave."

Shoved in a cupboard, and Harry looked miffed. He certainly wanted to leave. He had never felt so powerless.

_I'm not ready, I'm not ready, I'm not ready._

"Where's Harry?" another voice asked, clearly just entering the kitchen.

A breath in his throat hitched. Ginny. Harry's lips pursed harder. He suddenly hated her beautifully flaming red hair and his jealousy from earlier that day swiftly disrupted his rationale. _Why does she have to look so great? _He was the older one. Shouldn't he be a year ahead somehow? Like a year ahead in progress?

He was a freak, and he thought perhaps his train of thought wasn't making much sense. Then again, when Ginny was around, it never did. He had never felt so powerless. And he heard Ginny sigh.

"What did you say to him to cause him to scarper like that, anyway?" asked George.

"_George!" _chided Hermione's voice.

"You saw them together when she first came in! They hug, Ginny whispers something, and now he's nowhere to be seen!"

"_Yes,_ but—!"

"It's all right, Hermione. I can handle my git of a brother's questions," interjected Ginny in a voice Harry could only interpret as a strange mix of annoyance and affection. The same voice she used to use with him. His heart squelched. He had never felt so powerless.

"Well?" asked Ron. _"Ow!"_

Harry assumed Hermione had nudged him hard. He heard Ginny sigh again.

"I said… 'Remember my last, Harry,'" she said.

Harry blanched. _Please don't discuss this, _he thought frenetically, wondering how she can be comfortable speaking about their old problems openly. He felt indignant and he wasn't sure if he was angry and jealous of her ability to move on easily enough to be at a point where she could bring up a memory so casually… or at the fact that she was out there with his friends sounding like she didn't have a care in the world and he was still stuck in a bloody cupboard. He had never felt so powerless.

"But what does that mean?" asked Hermione.

He could hear the confusion in her voice. There was a brief pause and he knew Ginny was hesitating. He suddenly stood straight up in relief at the gesture.

"It's nothing," Ginny's voice said

"Aw, c'mon Ginny. You know you can't just bring up something like that and not tell us!" exclaimed George.

"George!" Harry heard Mrs. Weasley's distant voice cry into the kitchen. "Bill needs you! And bring the pudding out while you're at it, dear!"

_Yes, Georgiekins. Mummy wants you, _Harry thought darkly. His tense posture relaxed a bit, thinking the conversation was over due to the salvation that was Mrs. Weasley's shout.

"I'm not finished with you," said George's grinning voice before another shuffling was heard and a swing of a door.

"So?" Harry heard Ron ask impatiently. "Go on, then! Tell us!"

He heard Ginny groan.

"It refers to the last time I saw Harry before today and that's all you're going to get out of me," she said firmly. Her voice suddenly lowered and he had to press his ear to the door to hear her at all. He felt like a nosy neighbor, but he didn't care.

"Has he been eating?" asked Ginny carefully.

He knew she was looking at Hermione and he hated that question, swallowing the bile that abruptly rose to his throat. It didn't help that he was currently feeling nauseous and not hungry at all. He had never felt so powerless.

_I'm not ready, I'm not ready, I'm not ready._

"Yes, but not much," Hermione's voice admitted, sounding worried herself. "Not since that day at St. Mungo's… I think he's relapsing. I've been thinking it ever since he came to me with bright pink hair…"

"But that was only two weeks ago!" exclaimed Ginny. "He couldn't have lost _that _much weight that quickly, could he? You see how skinny he is? All you can see is his neck!"

_I'm a freak._

"Sorry Ginny, but Harry's been getting thinner since before that stint," supplied Ron.

Harry turned sour and he could hear the accusatory implications in Ginny's voice when she spoke.

"I thought you told me he was doing fine?"

"Er—" started Ron, but Ginny cut him off angrily.

"I thought you said he was healing and adjusting to everything well. I thought—"

Harry's heart was everywhere. She checked up on him? _She's been _checking up on him? Why?

_I'm not ready, I'm not ready, I'm not ready._

He felt lightheaded before Hermione's composed voice interrupted Ginny's angry rant, pulling his head back down to his neck.

"Oh, Ginny," she said. "Ron was just trying to protect you. _Both of you._ He knows how you are and what you would've done if you found out the truth. And that was probably the last thing Harry would've wanted. His instructions were clear and you can't blame Ron for respecting Harry's wishes. _And _you were just starting Quidditch at the time. _You know _how Ron is about that. He wanted you to be at your best… He didn't want to worry you or chance having you pulled from the team so early on in your career."

"Yeah," Ron's voice chimed in quickly. "Exactly."

Harry tried not to roll his eyes and almost smiled when he heard Ginny's response.

"Very eloquent, Ron," her voice said. Ginny was furious and had a million wild thoughts pushing and shoving in her head, but something in Hermione's statement struck her. "'Was'?" she asked at last.

Harry gathered Hermione looked confused, for a brief silence slithered its way into the conversation. Then he heard her say, "What?"

"'Was,'" repeated Ginny. "You said, 'That _was _probably the last thing Harry _would've_ wanted…'"

"Oh," said Hermione.

Harry could hear she hadn't meant to say that, and it was a good thing too, because his blood was scalding hot as it rose and the apology diluted in her voice calmed him a little. But only a little. He had never felt so powerless.

_I'm not ready, I'm not ready, I'm not ready._

"Well…" said Hermione's voice uneasily. "I said that because I have this theory…"

Harry was certain brown eyes had met blue again, but he never learned what 'this theory' was as Mrs. Weasley's distant voice rang in the air again, beckoning them outside for dinner. He heard them leave and quietly exited the cupboard. He looked down at his Muggle clothes and he didn't know what to make of the conversation he had just eavesdropped on or what the hell he was thinking.

Harry wasn't ready.

He felt weak and thin and tired.

He had never felt so powerless.

He raised his wand to try and straighten his clothes out that had gotten wrinkly from being crammed in the cupboard, but nothing happened. _Oh no, _he thought irritably. _Bloody hell. Not again._

Harry's magic was faltering, and he thought he really was a freak.

He was powerless.

Standing there in his Muggle clothes, in the middle of an empty kitchen, he realized he'd never escape the cupboard. He'd be stuck in there for the rest of his life.


	7. Quirinus Quirrell

**A/N: DaftDruid, **Sorry, love! I'm back home and dreadfully busy, but I'm not ignoring you. I haven't found time to reply, yet. I have an influx of messages that are slowing me down, and I'll try to get back to you shortly.

**Disclaimer:** Last line taken (almost) directly from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone, _the scene before Harry wakes up in the hospital wing at the end of the book.

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><p><em>It had been about seven weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts, and seven weeks since Fred Weasley departed his beloved family for the very last time.<em>

_Ginny laid in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, and willing her tears to squeeze right on back through her tear ducts. She usually didn't cry so much anymore, and it was a nice realization, she thought. Most of the time, it was the sound of Fred's laugh that helped her trudge on through the misery he never meant to leave behind. She knew he wouldn't stand for her crying, and would want her laughing… and happy… at all times. As he always did._

_And that was the biggest thing Ginny knew Fred had left. His laugh. It would always be with her, and that was how she managed to smile in the last few weeks with her friends and family. However, every day was a battle, wasn't it? Some days you win… other days, you lose._

_That day, Ginny had lost._

_So she allowed herself a few hours to feel bad about everything, knowing tomorrow would bring with it more time to carry on… and live the life Fred had lost. She'd do it for him and, more than anything, the people she knew he held dear to him as well. She often felt bad for crying about Fred, knowing it was almost an insult to his memory to still be doing so after a month… Perhaps seldom tears were all right, but not reckless sobs like she had produced hours earlier. She knew if he were there right now, he'd have told her to get a grip on herself with a crack of a crude joke, thought up just for her. And she smiled. She wondered for a moment if George was still up. She looked at the clock on her bedside cabinet._

_3 a.m._

_She knew he was probably fast asleep by now. And she didn't want to bother him, not when she was certain she'd be feeling better in the morning. But something about George's energy was incredibly comforting to her… How he had handled everything. George was amazing… and she had never felt more proud to be related to him than ever. She often pondered where he got his strength, suspecting it had to do with the fact that he was Fred's twin. During her and the family's first stages of grief, she was convinced George being his twin was an absolute, rotten curse. To have to wake up every morning… and look into the mirror… only to see looking back at him the ghost of his other half… much like she felt when she gazed at George, seeing the lost phantom of her brother, and admittedly, not George himself… But now she realized being Fred's twin must have been a blessing._

_It was like Fred was living through George, and it showed brightly._

_George was living two lives now, and he didn't think it right to live half of them mourning. He had told Ginny that he'd see Fred soon enough, so in the meantime, he'd live the life he thought Fred would've wanted. George had said that, after all, Fred wouldn't be pleased if George met up with him at the pearly gates without a few more legendary jokes given and learned. And he was determined to find those wild stories to share with Fred… and continue Fred's legacy. He'd do it all for his best friend._

_That had made the entire Weasley clan laugh with tears… and Ginny couldn't help but thank George for his astonishing example._

_She turned in her bed and looked out the window above her desk, staring at the moon; in that moment, she knew in her gut that Harry was awake too._

_Harry._

_Ginny's smile deepened. He had been amazingly wonderful as well… His strength was nearly identical to George's, though in different ways. She was sure she wouldn't know what to do without either of them. Harry had gone through more personal deaths than anyone in her family, so he seemed to always know the exact words to say to her… Though perhaps this was because he was _her _Harry that he did it so well… He was considerably less awkward around her when it came to things like that. Plus there was the added factor that he understood her more than anyone, and often told her he felt the same way about her. Indeed, that was always nice to hear…_

_She suddenly wanted to see him. It had been a few days since she last saw him. He was always so busy, especially with the Ministry. But he always managed to make time for her, finding hours to spend with her most days, even if they were usually strained and involved only sitting quietly together, not speaking. Still, it was more than she could've asked for… and simply being around him seemed to soothe her soul. She liked to think she soothed his, too. Regardless, he'd been more busy than normal lately, and couldn't make it to see her in the last week. She didn't mind, as she hadn't seen Ron or Hermione just as much. So she knew he wasn't avoiding her._

_After the war, she and Harry had never spoken about their relationship… How could they? There was so much going on, and they both figured they now had more than enough time to discuss it later… now that they were both free. And she appreciated Harry even more for that—for giving her the time to simply wallow in her brother's death and not confuse it or have it mixed up with their relationship. That way, Fred's death would never be able to taint it, and Harry wouldn't have to face more guilt for feeling like he was taking advantage of her vulnerable state, as she knew that was where his mind would go if he did try to fix things between them soon after Voldemort's defeat… More than that, perhaps they both thought it was already tainted enough by other things, not unlike the relationships they shared with others._

_An image of Harry floated through her mind, wanting to know what he was doing at that moment. He was awake, of course. She had already established that. And she knew why. Much like she knew why she often found Ron lying awake in his bed. It was only when Hermione came over that he ever seemed to be able to sleep. The death of Lavender Brown had been a strange shock for everyone… but Ron took it particularly hard, considering he used to snog her with Hermione in mind. It made sense only Hermione could understand him in that respect, as the brilliant witch knew right away his guilt stemmed from the immense feelings he had for herself. All Ginny knew was that she _and _Harry didn't understand Ron's perspective. Then again, if Ginny really listened to Hermione's explanations, she could understand in some ways. Hermione was right: If Ron wasn't so in love with her, his guilt towards Lavender would probably have just been a passing sadness that he'd be over by now._

_Ginny thought Ron was very lucky to have such a smart and understanding person by his side… to enable him to sleep well most nights… and at this thought, Ginny flung her blankets off and sneaked into the living room. She stood in front of the fireplace… Her mum _would not _be pleased, she knew… but Ginny had been secretly sneaking around the Weasley family's rules for years now… That's how she got so good at Quidditch, wasn't it? Yes, it was. She'd never get anywhere with what she wanted if she always followed everyone's orders… Besides, she would be of age in nearly two months! Fred and George would be proud of her sneaking off… And with that in mind, she threw some Floo powder into the fireplace without another moment's hesitation._

_When she stepped out into the kitchen of Twelve Grimmauld Place, she tiptoed quietly against the wooden floorboards, wondering how she should go about seeing Harry… He didn't like people sneaking around him, after all. Luckily, she didn't have to figure anything out, because she soon heard a low voice say, "Nearly gave me a heart attack, Ginny."_

_Ginny turned around and there was Harry, staring at her from the kitchen door. Two seconds later, he had closed the gap between them and pulled her into a tight embrace. He was smelling her hair deeply before he moved slightly away and asked, "What are you doing here?"_

_She shook her head against his chest, not entirely sure herself. "I dunno," she said quietly, "…today was a bad one… couldn't sleep."_

_Harry hauled himself away from her completely to look down into her eyes. He was thankful she wasn't crying, appreciating it like he had so many times before. He nodded his head, familiar with her choice of words. "Did something happen?" he asked. "A trigger, maybe?"_

_Ginny shook her head again. "No… just woke up feeling… odd."_

_He sent her a half-smile. "I know what you mean."_

_She hugged him once more and almost laughed. "Of course you do."_

_"Do your parents know you're here?"_

_She stilled, and then shook her head. This time, she actually did laugh, hearing Harry groan._

_"You've any idea how much trouble you just got me into?"_

_Ginny pulled away, her laughter growing and her eyes twinkling. "You'll live, Harry. You always do."_

_Harry gave her a pointed look. "Glad to know you think I'm immortal," the boy-who-lived said darkly. After a beat, he asked, "How'd you know I was here? I just got back about an hour ago… Wait a minute—" He looked at the clock in the kitchen. "How'd you know I was awake?"_

_She frowned. She had no idea. "Just a feeling," she said honestly, moving towards one of the chairs at the wooden table and leaning on it. "I just knew you were."_

_This made Harry smile. "I forget how well you know me."_

_Ginny smirked and appeared to be thinking of his statement in mock-ponder. "Well, I _have _had nearly… let's see… I was five when I first learned about you… so that would make it about twelve years of knowing you! Practice makes perfect, isn't that right?"_

_"How lucky of me," said Harry dryly._

_She giggled a bit before turning to look around the kitchen. "Did you eat, Harry?"_

_He nodded, following her eyes. "Yeah, before I got back."_

_She felt a bit guilty then, taking in his appearance. He really did look like he just got in. "You must be exhausted… I'm sorry to bother you so late…"_

_Harry laughed. "You're never a bother, Gin. You said so yourself, you knew I was up."_

_She smiled at him before a wave of nerves suddenly flew through her. This was the first time she had been alone with him outside her family since, well, forever. Sure, they had their alone time at the Burrow, but there was always _someone _around the house to check up on them and open up the door… Usually it was Ron, but the realization that Ron wasn't there tonight hit her hard. She felt her body tingle in excitement. She cleared her throat. "Are you going to sleep?"_

_Harry blinked once and it seemed the same realization collapsed onto him too. "Er," he said nervously. "Yeah… I was about to…"_

_She moved from the chair and took one step towards him._

_Harry cleared his throat, his eyes now looking anywhere but at her. "Are you?" he asked stupidly, staring at some shiny pots Kreacher, his house-elf, must've scrubbed spotless recently. _Where was Kreacher, anyway? With my luck, he'd be making his appearance right about now, _he thought. But Kreacher was nowhere to be found, and Ginny was moving closer towards him. He cleared his throat again, and her brown eyes were all he could see. "Er, Ginny?"_

_"Yes, Harry?" asked Ginny gently, trying to peruse his face._

_Was he ready for this? They had barely touched since… well, in the way he would've wanted… since his seventeenth birthday. He wasn't sure what to do, feeling like a kid all over again. And he hadn't felt like that in a _very _long time. In fact, most days, Harry felt much older than he should be feeling…_

_He'd certainly been thinking of that moment for a long time… but now that the moment was there, he became aware of the fact that he was at a loss as to how he should go about handling it… But he didn't have to know. Because not long after, and like many times before, he was suddenly being reminded of all the things he loved about Ginny when he abruptly felt her lips against his. She made the decision for him, and he was delightfully grateful for it. Strange how agonizing yet wonderful it felt to have his hand in her hair again, feeling his mouth on hers. It was like a collection of longing within him he hadn't known was that large had awoken and he couldn't keep his hands off her._

_After a few moments of heavenly blankness, Ginny pulled away, smiling at his dazed face. "Didn't realize just how much I missed doing that," she puffed._

_Harry remained silent, his thoughts still lost somewhere way up high above them, and he could only nod fervently in agreement. He blinked several times and seemed to have finally come to; he peered down at her, seeing she looked to be struggling with something. "What?" he asked._

_She swallowed hard and looked him straight in the face. "Can I sleep here tonight?"_

_He blinked again, rather stupidly. "What?" he repeated, though in a different tone._

_"Can I sleep here," she said once more, offering him a smoldering look._

_"Er," said Harry, breaking into a sweat. "Like in my bed?"_

_Ginny allowed herself a small explosion of laughter, seeing his perplexed face. "Well, I hadn't gotten that far… but maybe… yes."_

_"I don't think that's such a good—"_

_"Don't worry about my parents," she interrupted. "I can handle them. You know I can."_

_He shook his head. "That's not the only thing I'm worried about, Ginny."_

_She grinned, trying to reassure him. "I promise I'll behave myself," she said jokingly. When he laughed uncertainly, her face suddenly turned serious. "I can't sleep," she said quietly. "I doubt I'll stay for so long… just a few hours… I don't want to leave yet."_

_Harry considered this. He himself couldn't deny his own sleeping problems… Maybe having Ginny around would help him, too. Things were still so early in their relationship, he assumed there wouldn't be any issues in that sense… it's not like they were both ready for anything beyond sleep, he thought. And he'd slept with Hermione in a tent, albeit a fairly large tent, for a while… He supposed it couldn't get anymore awkward than that… Besides, it was Ginny! But that was the frightening part, wasn't it? He wasn't in love with Hermione… his mind never wandered to her in that way when they had fallen asleep together in the tent. Also, he wasn't so sure when he'd ever get an opportunity like this again. His schedule was always so unexpected and fragmented, and he found it quite easy to forget about Ron and the rest of the Weasleys with Ginny's divine flowery scent in his nose like that. "Er… all right."_

_Ginny nearly pounced on him, breaking into a bright smile, and Harry was glad he could do just that for her._

_Twenty minutes later, they were making their way into Harry's bed. He absently thanked Kreacher for cleaning his room while he was gone before he felt Ginny pulling him towards her with her small, delicate hands. He was tense and nervous, not sure of what he was doing. However, Ginny didn't look like she knew what she was doing either, and that calmed him for some reason._

_"Just lay down, Harry," she ordered him. "We've laid down together before, you idiot!" she said, laughing affectionately._

_He laughed a bit with her and did what she said. She was right. They _had _lain down together before. Why was this so different, then? He shook his head with that sticky anxious feeling still stuck in his throat. "Erm, yeah, sorry. Yeah…" Before he knew it, he was holding Ginny again and it felt more natural than he thought it'd be… Her breathing had evened against his neck, and his own breathing fell into hers, the heavy tug of slumber gripping at his eyes._

_They both fell asleep easier than they had in the longest time that night, wrapped in each other's arms, neither of them knowing what exactly they were in for… just as long as they weren't awake anymore, staring up at the restless ceiling and wondering selfishly where their lives had gone wrong… both feeling like they had just won another battle._

* * *

><p>D-D-Derailment. Harry's head is derailing the moment he walks outside from the Burrow and into the lawn. All tense and nervous, and he can't relax. He looks at the long wooden tables and sees there is only one seat available.<p>

_Of course._

His eyes shift to Hermione's and narrows. She is obviously trying to keep a smile off her face, and his mind derails again. It's no coincidence that the only seat left happens to be right next to Ginny. Before his stumbling thoughts can figure out what exactly Hermione is up to, Mrs. Weasley is already out of her chair and ushering Harry to his, fussing about how sickly and thin he looks. He sits down dutifully and Mrs. Weasley is sloshing out heaps and heaps of food onto his plate.

"You will eat all of it, Harry, dear," she says forcibly in a tone that is oddly kind but no-nonsense all at once.

All tense and nervous, and he can't relax. He pales, but manages to bob his head along with Mrs. Weasley's on-going rant of concern about his health, ignoring Fleur's unnecessary nods of agreement. He feels even more nauseous, twitching and jittery. The need to vomit rises in his throat as he takes in an overwhelming whiff of garlic. He's sure the smell is now attached to him, consuming his senses. He's fidgeting in his chair when he hears Ginny speak next to him.

"I'm glad you came, Harry," she says quietly.

Harry gulps involuntarily and crams a mouthful of potatoes between his lips, only nodding in response.

"Won't you talk to me?" asks Ginny, staring at her untouched plate.

"Er," says Harry. "Wh-What's there t-to talk about?" he stutters stupidly, inwardly cringing at his expression. _Damn, _a dark voice in the back of his head says. _How weak. _Indeed, Harry is feeling weak. Insignificant and worthless. Much like he was in the cupboard, he has never felt so powerless. _Power, _the voice says.

Ah, yes, power.

Harry tries to steel his mind and determines he's in a power play. With who, he's now finding out.

He sees Ginny blanch and glare, and he does nothing to make her feel better. He instead looks directly across the table at Hermione, who is no longer stuck in a discussion with Bill. His eyes flicker to Ron, who is bobbing Teddy on his lap and laughing as he jams mashed potatoes in the unsuspecting toddler's face. And Harry knows then that Ron would be of no use to him if he were to ask about Hermione; the thick redhead hadn't the foggiest clue what his girlfriend was up to…

Hermione.

_This is all Hermione's fault,_ the voice says. _She's meddling and the reason you're feeling weak—_

_H-Her and the g-girl next to you, _his own stammering voice adds nervously.

Ginny makes him weak and he spears a piece of roasted chicken with his fork. He forces his thoughts away from the now fuming girl next to him and catches Hermione's eye once more. _There g-goes that evil flash of a s-smirk again. Just what is she up t-to? _No way Harry is going to let Hermione have all the power. He will not stand for her teasing. But Harry feels timid and keeps his mouth shut. _WEAK, _the voice in the back of his head repeats.

Harry's mind derails again and he starts questioning his initial, ridiculous ideas about good and evil, because if Hermione was his good friend, why did she suddenly feel like an evil enigma he had to rid himself of? Could he really stand up to her in his current, twitching voice? _Damn!_

But there is no good and evil. Those do not exist. There is only _power._

And Harry needs to find it.

He thinks quickly now, his inner voice still spluttering stupidly within him as he listens to the enthusiastic murmur around the table. And though Ginny is still pale and glaring beside him, she manages to answer any and all questions thrown her way about her return home after being gone for an entire year as part of her training for Quidditch. Harry tries not to listen, but he hears every word of her last year; he's able to deviate from having to join in the conversation with all the food he puts in his mouth that seems to be never-ending. He stuffs the heaviness of cream and garlic down his throat, and after ten minutes, he's sure Mrs. Weasley is somehow sneaking more food onto his plate. He doesn't mind, though. He looks entirely busy, and the rest of the family appears to be sated with not speaking to him, letting him eat.

In fact, they all look relieved. And Harry enjoys this a bit, feeling he has gained some control of his actions… He's also enjoying the fact that Hermione was now glaring at him, her eyes darting from his still-chewing mouth to Ginny's unhappy fork movements.

He nearly grins, his face stuffed with food. The smell of garlic is still overwhelming, but he can care less. He is in control. All the power was his. But then, Ginny says something to him in a low voice, and he grips his fork violently.

"Will I be seeing more of you?" she asks carefully, though it sounds rather polite more than anything.

Harry chokes on his green beans.

Ginny ignores this, staring at him expectantly, and he doesn't blame her. All tense and nervous, and Harry can't relax. He's in a power struggle with Hermione, and Ginny is interfering. He finally allows his eyes to look at her, and he regrets it, suddenly sensing he might be in a power struggle with her, too. He's not sure why, but he feels like she's glowing somehow, and he has to look away. He jams bread into his mouth, seeing Mrs. Weasley smile pleasantly through the corner of his eye, and he chews slowly, stalling and trying to come up with an answer. After a few minutes, Ginny's eyes have not left his face, and he finally swallows. "G-Ginny…" he stammers feebly. He thinks he knows what she wants… Or at least, he thinks he knows what she wants to hear, because he wants the same things… When he realized in the cupboard that she had been keeping tabs on him—but nothing has changed, and he tries to tell her this. "I-I—"

Power.

Harry wants the power she has over him, and he's unable to find a grip.

"Yes?" she asks, placing a hand on top of his as if out of habit.

Harry immediately hisses loudly and recoils away from her touch. The look of surprise on his face matches Ginny's, and he doesn't hear the table around him go silent. His thoughts are going nuts now, stumbling over each other in hyper speed, s-s-stammering—d-d-derailing—th-they won't make sense, two voices going off wildly in his head. _What the hell was that? What's going on? Why did that hurt so badly?_

Ginny looks affronted, watching him stare at her as if she had just assaulted him. What did she do? Was she really that repulsive to him, now? She tries to shake it off, and goes to touch him again.

Harry nearly yelps, his legs snapping together as he stands to his feet. His reflexes are so fast, his wand is already in his hand and he thoughtlessly points it at her. He blinks once, seeing the look of pure confusion, fear, and hurt in her eyes. He puts his hand down and shakes his head roughly. "I-I'm sorry," he stutters earnestly, gently. He looks at everyone else, finally acknowledging that they are staring at him. "I-I didn't mean t-to—" He looks at Ginny, and feels himself crumble.

His mind is deteriorating now—d-d-derailing. Because the image he glimpses reflecting in Ginny's wonderful brown eyes:

It's like he's staring into the Mirror of Erised all over again, seeing his heart's desire. Except the image has changed. His dearly beloved of the departed are still there… his parents… the relatives he's never met… but with some new faces now… Sirius… Dumbledore… Remus… Tonks… Fred… even Moody (Harry's ears ring, and he hears himself and Ginny laughing as she jokingly says, "Constant Vigilance!" in a memory)… they're all there… living through her. He can see them. He has always known he'd find them once more in her… but at this moment, she is all he wants; his greatest desire. He sees himself having it. Having it all. It's the clearest vision he's ever seen, and he can't do a thing about it. _Weak._

_WEAK._

Harry wants it so badly, and knows that self-interest keeps him from having it. Selfishness.

Because he thinks he will use it.

Use her.

_WEAK._

_"Men have wasted away before it, not knowing if what they have seen is real, or even possible,"_ Dumbledore had once told Harry of the Mirror of Erised.

Is this Harry's fate? To waste away before her?

_WEAK._

His brain snaps and unfolds.

"I-I'm sorry," he says again, barely a mumble. "I n-need a moment," he turns his head and stares directly at Hermione, "don't follow me."

And he stalks away from the table. From the food. The looks of shock and confusion. The brown eyes. The questions he can't answer. The feelings he does not know. He finds himself at one of the trees by the house… It's familiar to him. He used to sit with Ginny under this tree, and his insides freeze as the memories make their way before his eyes, uninvited. The searing pain in his hand where Ginny had touched him twice just now starts to fade, and he collapses against the tree. He tries to figure out where the pain had come from. All tense and nervous, and he can't relax.

Why. Why is there a sting? Not emotionally or mentally like he's used to… but a real, agonizing sting that steals his breath, reminding him he is human and _alive. _Why is he feeling like he had just ran his hand through a burning turbo shot of scary, white-hot fire and held it there for a full minute? Since when does Ginny touching him physically hurt? What does it mean? There was something oddly familiar about being burned by… well, for lack of a better word, love. "Mate," Harry hears beside him. He looks up from where he's bent over on the tree.

It's Ron.

Sweet, non-evil, non-scheming, unknowing Ron.

And Harry relaxes.

There is no power struggle here. Not with Ron.

Harry tries to send him a weak smile, but is only able to muster a grimace.

"You're not all right," says Ron.

Harry knows this, and nods his head, moving his hands away from the tree to clutch his stomach. The smell of garlic overwhelms him again, and he tries not to hurl.

"What was that?" asks Ron.

Harry shrugs his shoulders, his eyes shut in concentration, willing himself to stomp out his jitters. "Dunno," he finally manages to puff.

Ron looks scared, his face turning pink. "I think you should leave," he says quietly, holding a breath.

Harry's eyes shoot up and he stares at Ron. "What?"

Ron nods his head, a look of regret on his face. "You haven't slept in days… Your nerves are all mucked up! Hermione…," he doesn't see Harry scowl, "she says you need to sleep, or you're going to drive yourself mental… She, er, mentioned something about how Muggles are affected by… erm, _insomnia?_ Didn't—er—pay much attention to that part… but she did say the effects must be even more hazardous for wizards… She says your magic is unstable in this state…" He seems to have gained his confidence, because he stands taller and says firmly, "And I agree. You're a danger to yourself like this, Harry, and to us. And I know it's not your fault… but just get some bloody sleep, mate."

Harry cringes. Hermione, through her words, still has power over him. And obviously, over Ron. He's all tense and nervous again, and he can't relax. "I-I can't," he admits weakly. "I've been trying…"

Ron sighs and scratches the side of his face, thinking. He glances behind him, then back at Harry. "Then stay. Sleep here. Mum'll feel loads better if you did, anyway. Just… stay away from Ginny, all right?"

Harry looks irritated. "What do you think I've been trying to do?" he snaps.

Ron promptly puts his hands up. "I know," he says, trying keep his voice controlled, "I didn't mean it like that—just try harder, will you?"

"I am! I would be well off right now if it wasn't for Hermione!" argues Harry, now glaring at Ron.

Ron flushes a deep red and loses control of his voice. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demands loudly.

Harry cringes again, j-jittery and n-nervous. "S-Sorry," he stammers tensely, not wanting to fight with his best friend, "I don't even know—can't think straight."

"Clearly," mutters Ron. "C'mon," he says moodily, moving towards Harry to help him up.

Harry flinches brutally at the contact, his last vision being that of the terrified, confused face of Ron. Ever sweet, non-evil, non-scheming, and unknowing.

It appears no sleep has caught up to Harry, and he feels neither good nor evil. Only a loss of power.

He's wasting away.

He wrenches his arm from Ron's grasp, knowing all power is lost, and falls into blackness, down… down… down…


End file.
